“Sunday, Feb. 26 marked the beginning of the 25th National Eating Disorders Awareness Week.
The National Eating Disorders Association (NEDA) educates, inspires recovery, and provides comfort to those suffering from eating disorders, and also to the millions of family members and friends who have lost loved ones to a disease that currently affects 90 million Americans. A disease also clouded with misconceptions and societal shame. With the united goal to remove the stigmas, the shame and false perceptions associated with eating disorders, NEDA is making a bold statement with three simple words this year: “Everybody knows somebody.” From national events to grassroots and individual efforts the message that eating disorders do not come in one shape or size, are not defined by societal or cultural standards, and certainly not by insurance companies, has taken off. Unfortunately, too many do not believe those three words, and too many in need of treatment listen to insurance companies who are quick to deny medically necessary treatment. Many do not fall into a category of anorexia, bulimia, binge eating, or any of the ten other disordered eating terms I could list, but we all know someone. “Everybody knows somebody.” Before you continue reading, I would like you to think about the above sentence - ignore any outside noise and the chatter in your head. What do the above three words mean to you? Be honest. Do you believe the statement to be true? I am all too aware of the depth and meaning of those three words. “Everybody knows somebody” is powerful. And while I was thrilled NEDA chose such a strong and true statement, I was surprised by my own shock. I was even a little scared - I had to accept the reality. Eating disorders are killing millions and they do not present in an obvious fashion. That alone is terrifying, but then to know that most of the people reading this will roll their eyes and say, “Yeah right, I don’t know anyone with an eating disorder,” makes it even more disheartening. You do not have to be anorexic or bulimic to have an eating disorder. Insecure body image, yo-yo-dieting, compulsive exercise, unhealthy eating, and yes, even over healthy eating all fall into patterns of disordered eating. I know, it sounds like everyone in America has an eating disroder or disordered eating, but there is a line. I am a mother and a daughter. Like any child, I navigated the “battlefields” of childhood, awkward adolescence, insecure high school moments, and the terrors of college. Unfortunately, I did not navigate the battlefields in a healthy way. Not many do. One of the biggest misconceptions regarding the development of eating disorders and one the media discusses repeatedly, my mother (rarely is a parent the cause) is not the reason I developed an unhealthy relationship with food and body image. Genetics play a role in a person’s predisposition for the development of patterns of disordered eating, just as genetics put a person at risk for breast cancer and heart disease. However, with eating disorders there are a number of factors, and it is often society that pulls the trigger. Children as young as five are dieting. Elementary school students refuse to eat, quietly purging their lunch if necessary, while others overwhelmed by “pressure” go the other way and eat until they feel numb. One skipped meal, one comment, one purge or binge can be the unintentional beginning of a miserable life trying for “perfect.” These children are too young, they do not understand the consequences of their actions and honestly, they likely will not talk to you about their insecurities. Anorexia, bulimia and the many other diagnosed and undiagnosed disorders are like seedlings, taking root at an early age, an age parents do not want to entertain or believe. However as root takes stalk, implanting itself in a warm, inviting place it will eventually flourish just as our children grow and flourish in time. This flourishing root is secretive and quiet, even to the naked eye of a parent, doctor or teacher, until it begins to blossom, inviting our innocent children to inhale the “sweet” scent of its petals. That is the first moment our innocent children whisper that first cry for help, aware they need someone bigger and stronger, cognitively aware they are not fat, and should not throw up. On some level they know, whether at nine, eleven or eighteen, that starving, self-induced vomiting, exercising to the point of pain, or binging is a dangerous path that they do not want to enter. As they whisper a cry for help, the root becomes stronger and the flourishing petal silences their voice. If parents, teachers or coaches do not jump at the first sign, these children will either die or live a lifeless life, as eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any mental illness, a fact we already know. Sadly, we all know someone who struggles with food in some fashion. But they may not know, therefore how can we help? So this week, be brave and either ask for help, confront a friend, or rather than saying something negative about your body (outright or in your head) be an example and say something positive. Eat something you like if you tend to be wary of food. If you struggle with unhealthy eating, make an effort to choose something healthier. If you find yourself “needing” to run, take a day off. -by Kiersten Barry for Noorwood Patch
Listen to your body, I promise it won’t steer you wrong.”
Someone Else’s Mother
She will not remember her first day,
How I held her to my breast and cried
As I tried to memorize her face
Before I handed her over to someone else.
She will not remember the days
When I talked to her before she was born,
And how the day I found out I told her
“You are mine, and I love you, and I am keeping you.”
She won’t know how I stood up to my parents and to him
And told them I was going through the next nine months with her,
Even if that meant not going through it with them.
She will not know how I cried in the arms of a friend
In the bathroom of the women’s clinic
The day I found out she was a girl,
Because I knew it would make it that much harder to give her away.
I will not be the person who rubs her back until she falls asleep,
Who reads her bedtime stories and sings her lullabies.
I will not be the person who she gives her first smile to
Or takes her first steps towards.
I will not be the person she calls her mother,
Although I will forever call her my daughter.
My title will be diminished to being the woman who carried her
And gave birth to her, and nothing more.
I can hope that she inherits our looks,
My creativity, and his athletic abilities,
While never inheriting my crooked teeth,
Poor eyesight, or penchant for depression
I can hope that someone tells her she is beautiful every day,
But that she never lets herself fall too hard for a boy
Simply because he tells her those words.
I hope they read her the “right” stories,
Goodnight Moon and The Velveteen Rabbit,
Dr. Seuss and The Very Hungry Caterpillar.
I hope she is loved so obviously and so much it almost hurts,
That she is constantly scooped up in hugs
And covered in kisses.
I can hope for all of this, but in truth, I’ll probably never know.
On Mother’s Day I will wonder what she is doing
With the woman she really considers her mother,
And wonder if I even deserve any recognition on the day.
On her birthdays, I will imagine her parties,
The cake and the presents,
And wish I could send her something too.
On Christmas I will wish I could take her
To her grandparents’ house for dinner,
And to the candlelight service at church,
And watch Christmas movies with her until Santa comes.
Every Halloween I will wonder
What she is dressed up as,
And if she got any good candy in her bag.
I will want to know all the little things about her.
When she lost her first tooth,
Had her first crush,
And went off to her first day of school.
I will want to know what makes her laugh,
What makes her cry,
What she is passionate about
And the things she hates.
I will always wonder about the beautiful little girl I gave birth to
On an unbearably hot day in June,
Too young and irresponsible to raise her myself.
I will have to wait eighteen years
Before I even know if she has any desire
To know who I am.
She will always be my daughter,
A part of me I gave away by choice
So she could have the best possible start.
She will always be my daughter,
But I will never truly be
Her mother.


